


Discomposing Draco

by RQ_drabbles (ravenclawsquill)



Series: Hogwarts365 - 365 word ficlets [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hogwarts365, Ficlet, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawsquill/pseuds/RQ_drabbles
Summary: Harry's determined to shatter Auror Malfoy’s composure.





	Discomposing Draco

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Hogwarts365 - Prompt 157: Composure

I stare at my case file, but it's pointless. He’s too distracting. I can feel his presence from across the room; his distinctive magical signature makes my skin prickle uncomfortably.

He’s been working here for four months. They hadn't warned us; he just turned up one morning wearing scarlet robes. “This is Auror Malfoy,” they said, and that was that.

There’s something different about him, though. He’s maddeningly calm. It’s as if a fire has been extinguished. No matter what I say or do, his expression remains mild, his tone neutral.

It’s driving me crazy.

Whenever I see him, I’m overcome by the urge to shatter his composure. I’m desperate to get a rise out of him, to coax out a reaction – any reaction. I know he’s in there, somewhere.

I’ve started baiting him.

I hide his case files and “lose” his memos. I interrupt him during meetings, but he just smiles politely, listening intently.

This morning I spilled a mug of tea over his desk. He jumped up and charmed it away without so much as a scowl, but I know he was furious.

It’s late now. Everyone else has gone home. Every few minutes, he pauses to rub the back of his neck.

I saunter over to his desk and stand behind him. I settle my hands on his shoulders, curling my fingers gently over the ridges of his collarbones. He freezes as if he’s been Petrified; his quill slips, leaving a fat blot on the page. 

My heart leaps.

“What on earth are you doing?” he whispers.

“You looked tense,” I reply, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. I knead the taut muscles of his shoulders through his robes. He sighs, making no effort to move.

I run my fingers up the bare skin of his neck and drag my nails lightly over his sensitive scalp. His hair is gloriously short – it's almost sharp against my fingertips. My breath catches at the moan that escapes him.

He turns to gaze up at me. He looks debauched; slack-jawed and flushed, grey eyes ablaze with want.

I grin, victorious, and hold out a hand. “Dinner?” I ask.


End file.
